


Slumbersome

by DeVereWinterton



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Implied Canoodling, Insomnia, Non-Established Phrack, Sleepless nights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-04 08:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15837303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: '“Come to bed, Jack,” she whispered huskily, and he wondered if she knew just how tempting the offer really was.'





	Slumbersome

**Author's Note:**

> My mind has been a bit of a mess, therefore so is Jack's. I had about six other fics I wanted to write, and instead, this happened. Season 3-ish, I suppose?
> 
> Tackle-hugging leafingbookstea for all of her delightful comments on my fics, and for betaing this one.

 

Jack lit a new candle, watching the small flame as the wick caught fire, before blowing out the match and placing it on the saucer. The tea in the mismatched cup had long gone cold. The dancing light immediately cast grotesque shadows upon the walls of the tiny kitchen, as though dark figures were looming over him. Documents, photographs, and notes were spread out on the table before him, resembling pieces of a puzzle.

A puzzle he needed to solve.

If only he knew where to begin.

He’d discarded his jacket at some point during the night; it hung draped across the back of one of the other wooden kitchen chairs, his silent companion for the evening. Despite the cold weather, his skin felt damp.

As he turned his attention back to the file in front of him, he noticed the words were slowly turning into gibberish. Numbers turned into distorted formulas in front of his very eyes. But perhaps his own sight was deceiving him?

He checked his wristwatch; midnight had come and gone hours ago.

Jack had grown accustomed to pulling all-nighters, it was a part of the job he’d accepted without protest, though he had to admit that he didn't recover quite as easily from the sleep-deprivation like he used to in his younger years.

This case baffled him. Three victims, no similarities to their backgrounds, nothing that could tie them together but for the way their throats had been slashed. They appeared to have been chosen at random, but Jack had the nagging suspicion that there was something he was missing.

All night long, he had been going over every single detail. He felt as though he was running around in circles; passing the same tree, the same house, the same rock, and always coming up with nothing. He felt as though he’d gone to the grocer’s with a list and had come home with random items instead, none of which would have made a proper meal.

Speaking of which; he had difficulty remembering if he’d had dinner tonight. He could vaguely recall a simple but delicious meal, but that could just be his stomach playing tricks on him.

He desperately needed to sleep, but there was no rest for the wicked. This killer - or worse even, these killers - did not rest and so, neither would he. Yet, he could tell his concentration was waning and his focus was failing him.

But he couldn't fail. He couldn't fail the victims, their relatives, and ultimately himself.

Jack loved his job and the responsibilities that came with it. He didn't mind the burdens he’d been forced to bear and the issues that had been thrust upon him. He'd always had a strong sense of duty, even as a young boy, protecting his younger sister when one of his childhood friends had teased her about a new haircut. Granted, it had looked awful, but she was his family and it was his responsibility to protect her and to look out for her. She’d kicked the boy’s shin as she’d walked away, not unlike another strong and independent woman who had once kicked his…

When the call had come to join the military service, he’d reported to duty without thinking twice. Although the war had been terrible and he wished those atrocities had not taken place, it had been his responsibility to serve his country. It was his duty to answer the call of those in need.

He did not regret serving.

His only true regret was the arguments he’d had with Rosie in the years following the war; how she’d felt his first responsibility was to look out for her and to take care of his family, whereas he felt his responsibility was to safeguard the people of Melbourne in its entirety. To make up for those lives he hadn't been able to save during the war.

He supposed, in retrospect, they both hadn’t been wrong, nor right. They had just been unable to reach a compromise. Rosie, because of her traditional values, her attempts at salvaging their broken marriage, and not wanting for Jack to turn into her father, who’d hardly ever been home when she had been a child. Jack because of his sense of duty and wanting - no, _needing_ \- to escape the constricting confinements of his failing matrimonial bonds.

Confinements of an entirely different nature were currently preying on his mind as he found himself stranded in a cottage outside of Melbourne. The latest victim had been found about an hour’s drive away from the city centre, outside of Jack’s precinct, but his intuition had told him this murder could have something to do with the previous two victims, considering the killer’s modus operandi appeared to be very similar.

Miss Fisher and Miss Williams had, of course, joined him and Collins in their investigations at the latest crime scene. By the time the sun was about to set and they had all been ready to return to the station, heavy weather had caught them by surprise. Both his police-issued motorcar and the Hispano had proven no match for the dirt roads that had quickly turned into muddy pools of quicksand. Subsequently, they'd all been forced to spend the night in this quaint little town.

It had been agreed that Miss Williams and Collins would sleep in the two small bedrooms, as they both had single beds. After a somewhat heated, whispered discussion Miss Fisher had ‘agreed’ to taking the upstairs bedroom with the double bed - even though she’d insisted she could share with her companion, who in turn had protested vehemently about not wanting to impose on her mistress’ privacy.

Jack had offered to sleep on the sofa in the living room. He knew he wasn’t going to get any sleep any time soon - these cases had been keeping him up for weeks - and during his marital problems he had grown accustomed to sleeping on the sofa.

He’d pretended not to hear Miss Fisher’s muffled protests while in truth it had warmed his heart that she cared so much about his well-being.

His current situation wasn't altogether terrible. Miss Williams and Collins were pleasant company, and as for Miss Fisher...

He closed his eyes as he pictured her vexed expression, then immediately opened them up again when he felt a pair of delicate hands on his shoulders, gently kneading his tense, sore muscles through the crisp cotton of his white shirt. His first instinct would have been to tense up, to turn around and to address the person who would dare to touch him so freely and without constraint.

But in all honesty; it felt so good that he couldn't bring himself to care whose hands were taking such liberties with his person.

Besides, he knew of only one person who would, with the exception of his mother.

He leaned back against the chair and he could feel the heat of her body directly behind him. His head lolled back against her firm abdomen and he could hear her, distantly, murmuring sweet-nothings and working the knots in his muscles with all the expertise of a true masseuse.

He moaned softly, unaware that he’d even done so.

She placed a kiss upon his temple, the merest brush of her lips, a whisper against his skin. It was so light that for a moment, he thought he must have imagined it, until he felt her warm breath against his cheek. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Come to bed, Jack,” she whispered huskily, and he wondered if she knew just how tempting the offer really was.

She smelled of lavender, of woman, and of _home_.

He noticed the slight trembling of his hands on the tabletop.

She straightened up, and he turned in his chair to look at her. Her face was scrubbed clean of her customary make-up, and he thought he could detect a few adorable freckles across her nose; they were barely visible in the flickering candlelight. Still, her skin seemed to glow. Her hair was sleep-tousled and her eyes, although sleepy, still held their bright twinkle.

She simply stood there on the cold kitchen floor, waiting for him, barefoot and dressed in a tattered and absolutely dreadfully hideous violet robe she must’ve found whilst rummaging through the wardrobe in one of the bedrooms. All he wanted to do was to curl up in her arms and sleep until all was right with the world.

He figured he ought to protest, but if he were entirely honest with himself; he just didn't want to resist her any longer. He couldn't deny that the slow burn between them was turning into a full-fledged combustion. He longed to feel the flames of her passion, licking across his skin.

But dear _God_ , he was so _tired_.

He swayed forward infinitesimally as he rose from the chair to face her, but she noticed. Of course she did. The knowledge that she would be there to catch him if and when he fell - both literally and figuratively - was strangely comforting.

With a soft touch, she gently brushed back a few errant curls that had flopped onto his forehead from when he’d run his large hands through his hair in frustration. She smiled warmly when the golden locks fell right back once she removed her hand, wordlessly approving of the rebellious nature of his hair.

She was so beautiful to him, but even more so when she smiled. The way those smiles would start out on her plump lips and then stretch up all the way until they lit up her face, making her eyes shine… He didn't think there’d ever come a time when he wouldn't find the sight absolutely captivating.

She cupped his cheek in her small hand in reverence, brushed her thumb across his sharply pronounced cheekbone and scraped her fingers along his scraggly stubble. He involuntarily found himself leaning into her touch as his eyes fluttered shut in both longing and exhaustion.

“Sleep, darling man, and we’ll go over everything in the morning. Together.”

As she quietly led him out of the dark kitchen and up the creaky old stairs, holding his hand, he did not look back.

The case would still be there in the morning, but fortunately, so would she.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I know there’s all sorts of things wrong with this fic in terms of realism, but I’m tossing them all out of the window because I needed this fluff.


End file.
